Collision

It begins with a suspicion we underestimate, continues with a rumor pronounced in a low voice, heard echoing through some empty hall, advances into a sort of taboo for conversations but unavoidable in whispers, evolves to something spoken between failed attempts of hiding the awkwardness it produces, mutates into disturbed looks and hurried steps. Finally, leads to crowds in panic.

Before we realize, people are already running with their arms over their heads, ignoring whether they should be escaping from something, or trying to get somewhere. Is someone attacking us? Are we looking for something? Once we decide to pay attention we realize they are shouting at us to get ready for the crash, the collision is imminent now.

Horrified, we look for something to cling to and try to preserve what we are for as long as we can. We see how we get closer to the threshold at cruiser speed, and we hang to the tables of the floor as we watch the feeble attempts of others to tie themselves to everything they find. We shiver as we feel that this threshold´s shadow covers us already, and close our eyes wondering how hard the impact will be. What shape will our lives assume after it? Or rather, what shape will we assume…

But we feel nothing and we stand up cautiously. We check ourselves, hoping to find us taller perhaps, or turned into men, but we´ve aged only a few seconds. We look confused at those who pretend to have fallen from the commotion, or those who now walk with a false expression of maturity. We happen to glimpse someone who didn´t tie to anything at all, and laughs to himself of this big choreography. Inspecting our surroundings we see the pictures are where we left them, and we can still recognize ourselves in them. Our childhood books were not replaced by thick, dusty volumes. Even our marbles are there, on a corner, waiting for us to play with them again, someday.